


Above—Under—Around

by tjstar



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Human Experimentation, M/M, Masturbation, Morph/Levitate songfic, One-Sided Attraction, Supernatural Elements, Superpowers, Symbolism, Violence, deep web, dema, livestreams, trench
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-07 07:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17361338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: “Do you want me to save you?”This one-sided dialogue is everything Josh can entertain himself with — working on the internet is a go-to for an introvert. And Josh’s new hobby isMorphwho sits on the floor with his eyes closed in a state of meditation.And then he writes some more.





	Above—Under—Around

_Unread messages (1)_

**For:** _petcheetah_

Message text _‘.watchit.’_ contains an embedded link, and Josh clicks it without thinking twice even though DarkNet is full of tricky tricks yet anonymous. But his inquisitiveness overtakes him as he’s being redirected to a page full of cryptic pictures; one changes another so quickly these erratic flashes might cause epilepsy. Even though Josh has never had it. Josh’s head hurts, hot waves radiate from computer screen, reflecting in his nerdy glasses and almost scorching his eyes.

Josh pulls away in a rush.

“Dang.”

Ominous images keep hopping all over the surface, haunting Josh’s computer. This is not Josh’s first year of exploring the depths of the internet, but it apparently hasn’t made him smarter. He’s a fan, a fanatic even.

Josh reluctantly drags his chair back.

“Okay, thanks.”

He closes the tab and checks the chat again — his interlocutor’s nickname is hidden, as well as their profile; it may be just a glitchy bot.

Josh rubs the bridge of his nose.

He’s exhausted.

 

**Day 1**

This is how Josh spends his weekend: his computer purrs louder, the message tickles his curiosity. He returns to the page; there is the same gallery of images, both multicolored and monochrome that look like old photographs. Josh begins to think he’s gotten thrown into a freaky family archive. He can only hope that he’s not gonna stumble over a collection of _home videos_ there. That would’ve killed his psychic.

His eyes redden as he stares into the virtual whirlwind for an hour, two, either hallucinating or finding the truth — there are symbols and numbers shrouded in between the layers of gifs like 25th frames. This routine sucks him in, he can’t leave this thing undone — or something doesn’t let him stop. There are the pictures of people wearing capes with their hoods on, and Josh suspects he has somehow joined the cult; he’s not a supporter of Conspiracy Theory, it’s just his hobby, but he’s obligated to determine who was the sender in the first place. It’s a perfect challenge to level up his skills. Josh loses track of time, fishing out tiny bits of a _code_ , he’s already found a domain name containing the word _Dema_. Some letters are mixed up, some parts are missing; Josh is about to get a fit of apoplexy due to all the buzzing pressure in his brain.

The day gradually melts into the night; Josh needs more coffee to get braver.

Three cups later, Josh is finally ready to enter the URL he’s dug out. His adrenaline-operated body trembles in anticipation, his caffeine-overdosed mind travels to different dimensions; he expects his computer to set itself on fire as he sees the window with standard _login/password_ bars. Thrilled, Josh clicks _login_ and the system offers him to use his nickname instantly. Whoever added the user _petcheetah_ on the list must be FBI agent or a killer — but Josh calms himself down with the thought that he’s saved his nickname himself and it has just popped up. The password consists of remaining ones and zeros Josh has noticed on the illustration of a vulture soaring in the sky. He’s a puppet being lead by an invisible hand, the system _wants_ him to access it, the _10101*_ combination works.

There’s a CCTV camera video.

Josh feels extremely uneasy for invading it like a damn wedding crasher, but this _livestream_ is nothing resembling a wedding. There’s no sound even when Josh turns the volume to maximum; there is a room, the walls are light-grey with a plethora of lines and words drawn on them, there is a bed with a similarly grey pillow and mattress, the tile on the floor is cracked. Josh perks up on his seat; this interior reminds him of the asylum. There’s a today’s date and local time that matches Josh’s on the bottom of the screen. The word in the top left corner makes Josh’s stomach lurch — _Morph_ , it reads.

“Am I going to get murdered now, huh?”

Josh waits for a minute before spotting a light movement from the side that’s out of the focus of the camera — Josh is about to jump away from the monitor as he sees a lanky guy limping towards the bed. It seems like every move wears him out, but he crosses the room and falls onto the mattress. His clothes don’t look like anything he would wear in a hospital, it’s a blue t-shirt and dark sweatpants, his feet are bare. There are patterns on his arms, black circles and hieroglyphs tattooed in lines.

“Are you Morph?”

Josh thinks it’s just an ARG or a social commercial; life is crazy and he shouldn’t take everything seriously.

“I’m just gonna sit here for a while, okay?”

Josh begins to enjoy the situation; he can totally envision that Morph is an actor who’s getting paid for looking haggard. 

Josh remembers the time when Chip-Chan stream* was a thing.

“You’re a big mystery. Want me to _solve_ you?”

Morph is unaware. He sits on the mattress, cross-legged, swiftly writing in a thick journal with yellow cover; Josh continues inspecting the room — there is a steel sink in the corner and the toilet that’s almost hidden from his view. There are sketches drawn on the sheets of paper, clipped to the wall above Morph’s bed; they overlap the phrases underneath. The quality is good enough for Josh to detect Morph’s emotions — he’s concerned, playing his role diligently.

Dim lights on the ceiling pour a soft beaming all over Morph’s figure. He buries his face in his hands as his head collides with the pillow; Josh is confused, he didn’t expect him to pass out this soon. He even goes to take shower to give Morph enough time to rest, but Morph hasn’t moved an inch by the time Josh gets back.

Maybe he’s waiting for instructions from the game supervisors.

Josh is suddenly not interested in being productive tonight.

“Sleep well, buddy.”

 

**Day 2**

Josh recognizes a disturbing meaning of the words on the walls.

**_I AM A VULTURE WHØ FEEDS ØN PAIN_ **

Maybe Morph is not the author.

Morph gets a plastic tray filled with food through the small window with an iron grid that is too thick for him to run away. He eats a viscous mass with an illegible facial expression while Josh wonders when a makeup artist is going to visit Morph and fix the circles under his eyes. Morph’s hair is sticking out in strange angles, he’s pulling it constantly, twisting and ruffling it.

“Do you want me to save you?”

This one-sided dialogue is everything Josh can entertain himself with — working on the internet is a go-to for an introvert. And Josh’s new hobby is _Morph_ who sits on the floor with his eyes closed in a state of meditation.

And then he writes some more.

It’s a rainy day and the picture crumbles every so often; Josh is about to curse his internet provider for not letting him read Morph’s memoirs or whatever.

 

**Day 6**

He’s learned Morph’s habits and his daily schedule — he wakes up at 6:10 am and goes to bed at 1:30; he spends at least four hours writing every day. Sometimes he’s drawing — there are schematic rabbits living on his walls along with the dude with the blood flowing out of his eyeballs.

The picture glitches and makes Morph’s irises glint  _yellow_ — maybe he’s putting on contacts while he’s standing next to the toilet and the camera can’t catch him. Josh wants to know how many people are watching the livestream at the moment. He waits for interaction, for a _get up and do something_ , but there are no comments, no signs of any other viewers.

Josh can’t give it a thumb-up.

 

**Day 7**

Josh’s internet isn’t working.

Josh calls his provider immediately, despite his anxiety and his hate for all the phones on the planet; he makes a call and gets _we’re gonna solve the problem as soon as possible_ and believes.

But the internet is still dead after four hours of Josh’s breakdown.

Josh makes one more call and gets the same answer like before. When he tries to access the Dema system on his phone, he fails.

He feels guilty like the only one friend who was going to show up at Morph’s birthday party.

 

**Day 8**

Josh can’t get his job done, he doesn’t want to go to the bar with his brother, because _what if they repair the connection when I’m not home?_

Josh loses his sleep. He is all jittery thinking that he will never open the browser again.

He goes and bangs his head against the wall.

His provider isn’t picking the phone.

 

**Day 10**

Josh is an addict when he discovers that his internet is working again. He doesn’t care if there was Armageddon that would cause such a hindrance; he’s flurried, beckoned by a saved URL-address and these _login/password_ bars.

“Please,” Josh whispers. “Please, please, please.”

 _petcheetah — 10101 — page is loading,_ and the picture from Morph’s camera fills the opened tab.

Josh raises his fist up.

“Thank God!”

Morph is like his childhood friend now, but Morph scribbling on the wall is a horrifying sight; there’s a quote written in bold letters, atop of other words on the wall.

Morph’s handwriting is messy. Josh squints his eyes.

“What are you doing, man?”

It seems that Morph’s been doodling for hours now, a line after line, collecting a puzzle —

**_SLEEP IN A WELL-LIT RØØM_ **

**_DØNT LET THE SHADØW THRØUGH_ **

Josh thinks this one is addressed to him and panics, magnetized by Morph’s activity on the brink of insanity. A dozen of letters are just outlines, still, and Morph fills them with red color, holding a marker pen in his shaking fingers. He doesn’t turn to the camera; his harsh moves are fascinating, his artistry is. When he’s done though, he hurls the pen across the room and paces down the perimeter fussily, throwing his head back.

“Shit. Man,” Josh mutters through the palm clasped over his mouth.

Morph’s lip is busted, he skims his thumb across the sore, his chin is bruised and scabbed; his skin is still darkened here and there, and Josh would’ve heard him groan if there was the sound.

“This is just a makeup,” Josh says firmly. “Just a makeup.”

He hasn’t witnessed Morph getting beaten, which means it _never happened_.

Morph spits blood into the sink.

Josh sleeps with the lights on.

 

**Day 12**

Josh reads his work emails while Morph sleeps — he doesn’t even have a blanket. His food stays untouched on the tray; the rules of the game definitely changed during the days Josh couldn’t use the internet. When Josh finishes working with orders, Morph is already up on his feet, heading to the sink and tossing his t-shirt onto the headboard of his bed. Morph’s pants are hanging lowly on his hips, he’s forced to tug them up all the time; he dabs at his swollen lip again, looking around then into the camera. Josh’s hand freezes dangerously close to his groin.

“Sorry, dude.”

Morph shrugs, turning the water on and hunching over the sink, shoving his head under the faucet. He stays there for a minute, and Josh hasn’t watched good porn for long enough to be eager to touch himself at the sight of Morph, sprinkled with tiny droplets. Goosebumps form on Morph’s skin, Josh imagines chasing his fingers down his enigmatical tattoos.

Josh has tattoos, too.

Morph is, indeed, erotic.

Josh refuses to close his eyes when his hand is already down his boxers; Morph shakes his head like a dog, washing his torso with soap as the water wets the waistband of his joggers.

Josh is not even sure if he’s craving Morph’s body or any tactile contact. His palm is clammy, he doesn’t dare breathe as he fantasizes about Morph standing in his room stark naked; Josh wonders how Morph satisfies his _special needs,_ he wants to estimate the time right. Water trails down his back and his sides — here are slight bruises, yellowed to the point the light eats them alive. Josh doesn’t want to spoil his _mood_ so he calls them a makeup as well.

“O-oh.”

Josh is so hypnotized he doesn’t notice the stickiness between his thighs when his chest is about to burst from the lack of air. His palm’s still squeezing his dick, it’s painful, but he’s still too anxious to loosen the grip.

“What are you d-doing to me?”

This is a rhetorical question.

On the screen, Morph gets back to writing.

 

**Day 13**

Josh puts a piece of yellow duct tape over his web-camera. He doesn’t want to be somebody’s _petcheetah_ like he’s got _his_ Morph; he doesn’t even close the tab anymore to keep his hand on Morph’s pulse. Morph’s bruises don’t _disappear_ , a cut on his lip is healing too slowly.

The new phrase on the wall reads:

**_IM SURRØUNDED AND IM HØUNDED_ **

Josh is self-aware, and Morph looks way too confident for a hostage.

Until _they_ devalue all of Josh’s weak attempts to build an inner wall.

Josh keeps wasting his time, Morph moves across his room chaotically when two men come in; they are wearing black uniforms and helmets with glass visors. Too much for a lonely guy who doesn’t even have his shoes on. Morph stands in front of them, arms folded on his chest, and his foes are armed with truncheons.

“Hey!” Josh hollers. “What the Hell?”

Morph takes one of his fighting stances, his foot kicks the truncheon out of the man’s hand; the other is trying to restrain Morph, but he’s got his energy, it seeps even through the screen.

This show might turn to one of the _red rooms_.

Morph wipes his nose angrily, getting up again; small buttons of blood are scattered across the floor; another thing that terrifies Josh is that the guards are obviously scared of Morph, he’s keeping them at the distance. One of them tries to grab Morph’s journal, but he leaps onto the man from the rear, locking his hands around his neck.

Josh watches it, already dialing 911, but the line is busy. He tries again. Still busy.

Josh doesn’t stop calling, guessing that his phone is defected, and Morph is getting pummeled; he can’t handle a blow in the back of his head and falls down like a sack while his journal stays untouched. One of the guards hits him in the hip, then in his right side, and Morph rolls over, clutching his stomach with both his hands. His tormentors don’t wait for him to get his wind back as they hover above him. He shakes his head. The man points at the journal again, and Morph gives him another _‘no’,_  crawling away, but the sole of the boot pressed to his back pins him down like a bug.

“Please,” Josh screws his eyes shut. “Please, let him go.”

He’s safe, and the only sound he hears is a static roaring of his computer, but his brain adds the sounds to the picture: their footsteps, the slaps of the bones swatting against the meat and Morph’s irregular breathing. His head is lolling as they drag him up and throw him next to his bed; Morph looks at them wearily, Josh can see the mist in his eyes as they chain both of his hands to the bar in the headboard. He jerks back, but his hands are trapped, and the man punches him in the ribs with the tip of a truncheon. Morph curls into himself, almost tucking his head between his knees and leaning to the headboard.

Josh feels like he might throw up.

“Jesus.”

His palms are wet, his phone isn’t responding to his touches. Josh is startled, it’s not a wide broadcast — maybe he was the only receiver of the link, and bringing more people to the deal would lead to dreadful consequences.

Morph’s elbows leave red stains on his pants as he props them on his knees.

Josh can’t tear his eyes away, and Morph’s glance is burning the handcuffs on his wrists. Metal bracelets are sitting tightly.

Josh goggles at the monitor.

“How can I help you?”

Morph rubs his palms against each other, faster and faster, then yanking at the chain; his hand can’t slide through the cuff so he twists it, blood permeates his chafed skin.

“Are you insane, man?” Josh gapes.

Morph’s teeth are clenched, he keeps wrenching the handcuff furiously as if he wants to rip his hand off. Josh can see him trying to suppress the pain as his thumb pops, his knuckles get smooth and hide in the tissues as his palm gets thinner, almost rolling up into a tubule. As if it doesn’t have a single bone — and he pulls the cuff off; he does the same with his left hand, biting up the collar of his t-shirt not to yell.

Josh is too devastated to cheer for him.

Morph’s hands don’t look mangled or broken as he rubs them again — there are just bloody lines around his wrists. When Morph blinks, Josh can swear he sees a yellow twinkle in his eyes again. He’s just like that Tooms from the first season of _The X-files_ , like that monster _Squeeze;_ Josh wouldn’t be surprised if he’d caught Morph eating a fresh human liver.

But he keeps sitting on the floor, staring at his bare ankles.

Josh’s vent might become his shelter one day, Morph might become an article on the SCP foundation website one day.

From now on, Josh isn’t sure if Morph is a human.

 

**Day 14**

Josh is afraid that Morph is either going to get punished for getting free of his fetters or that he’s going to kill his jailors for chaining him to his bed in the first place.

Josh hasn’t slept this night, along with Morph — they’re two fishes on the one bait.

Dangerous people enter Morph’s cell once again — they don’t look surprised as they find him unchained, meditating in the center of the room. He says something; Josh is so bad at lip-reading, but they punch him with their truncheons and fists. Morph struggles, but the beating he took a day prior doesn’t let him move fast. One of the men twists Morph’s arms behind his back, forcing him to fall to his knees. Another one stands in front of him, and Morph’s getting yanked back, grabbed by his hair.

Josh’s lungs clog up his throat.

He’s a little relieved to find out that the man isn’t going to shove _anything_ into Morph’s mouth, taking a hair trimmer out of his pocket. Morph turns his head and jerks his shoulder as the first strand of his hair falls off the top of his head. They’re mocking him, shaving his head in weird directions until bald spots cover his scalp.

Morph’s eyes gleam yellow again as the man’s thumb presses to his Adam’s apple.

Josh is sure he laughs as he finishes shaving.

This whole act is degrading, _even for Josh_.

They leave Morph sitting on a small pile of his hair.

 

**Day 15**

No matter how hard they’re trying to break Morph, it seems that he only gets stronger and stronger as if he _really_ feeds on pain, both his and theirs. He keeps writing furiously; he’s sprawled across the floor the way the camera is focused directly on the page. Josh is sweating, closing the blinds in his bedroom but the darkness never comforts. He doesn’t remember the last time he ate, but he feels nauseous as soon as he opens his fridge. Josh stretches and goes back to the monitor.

“What now, man?”

Morph turns the page.

The picture is clear today, no pixels detected, and Josh wants to zoom the image to read Morph’s journal. It doesn’t work, because Josh can’t operate the camera and when he tries to, he catches only mysterious hieroglyphs on the page; Morph isn’t writing in English or in any language Josh is familiar with. Josh can’t take a quality screenshot to work on it later.

He dwells on it as Morph suddenly turns his neck and looks straight into the camera. Josh pulls back so rapidly he falls off his chair.

“Shit!”

His webcam is still covered with the yellow tape, but something in Morph’s glance makes Josh think that he looks _through_ it.

 

***

Josh dives into a ton of guides about how to determine the location by the livestream, he tries to uncover all the servers Dema is using at the moment. He opens the code of the page, but it’s not a usual one — this one consists of symbols and hidden pictures, all black and white, related to _Nicolas Bourbaki group;_ this is so confusing Josh is about to lose his mind. He doesn’t believe his eyes when he finds one more file entombed under the lines of the code — it’s a document, and the downloading process starts automatically. Josh almost hits _cancel_ when a black window asks him if he wants to open the file _now_.

Josh isn’t sure if he still cares about his own safety.

He opens the file he’s just downloaded — there are the scans of a case _№153,_  a mugshot of _Morph_ next to the height scale; he’s wearing an orange jumpsuit and holding a plate with silver letters on it: _Tyler R. Joseph._ His nose is bloody, his hair is unkempt, and his dark eyes are full of hate.

“Dammit!” Josh bellows. “Who the fuck are you?!”

He even forgets about the livestream as he scrolls the page down.

 **_Name:_ ** _Tyler Robert Joseph_

 **_Gender:_ ** _male_

 **_Date of birth:_ ** _|-/-/1988_

 **_Personal data/ID:_ ** _[information not provided]_

 **_Object type:_ ** _Morph_

 **_Hazard class:_ ** _1_

 **_Special abilities:_ ** _mind control, extra joint flexibility, [information deleted];_ **_warning_** _: potential unreleased._

_[information deleted]_

_Object’s been involved in following crimes: [coordinates hidden] laboratory explosion — involvement not confirmed; a murder in Discovery Center of Idaho — involvement confirmed; TRENCH shooting — involvement confirmed; [information deleted]._

_Current number of failed perimeter escapes: 42. Crime convictions: 7._

Josh is about to fall off his chair again. He would read _Tyler Joseph’s_ full biography, but he doesn’t need more explanations to get one fact straight: Morph is the evilous creature, and so is Tyler. What could you expect from a dude who doesn’t even have a date of birth.

Or a family.

Josh wouldn’t be astonished to discover that Tyler has made his family disappear.

 

**Day 16**

When people enter Tyler’s room again, Josh can’t breathe. Things have gotten more difficult since he started to call Tyler by his real name — these bits of information are just laughing at Josh’s face.

He doesn’t call the police.

He doesn’t call the police when the men surround Tyler, there are nine of them, and he raises his hands up as they point the rifles in the center of his chest. One of the men nods, placing his hand onto Tyler’s journal. Tyler shakes his head, Josh perceives this situation his own way — they want Tyler to decipher his writing. Not all the men are armed, but most of them are wearing military clothes. They close the circle, almost pushing him out of the camera focus. Josh doesn’t dare avert his eyes when people seem to keep giving orders; Tyler’s frame is strained, overextended and they give him a sheet of paper. He reads it, he tries to tear it apart, but the paper’s being snatched out of his hands.

Tyler balls up his fists, holding back his anger — Josh can feel it, his skin crawls. He can’t understand whether he’s sad or happy that he’s not participating in this scene, it looks like a ritual while Tyler closes his eyes, summoning his inner energy — Josh can tell it by his bulged up veins and by his clenched teeth.

“What —”

Josh chokes on his tongue when Tyler’s body begins to tremble almost getting seizures, his t-shirt is drenched in sweat in seconds.

And then he’s _levitating off his feet,_ slowly, floating in the air as if he’s about to get caught by the spaceship instead of the ceiling. Tyler’s bare toes aren’t touching the floor, his head is thrown back and his arms are wavering, his trance is deep. His nostrils are flaring up as his chest raises steadily. This picture is mesmerizing, Tyler — or Morph — is a _scientific miracle_. He flies higher, his weight is nothing, he’s still keeping up his vertical position. Josh thinks he’s sleeping, but then Tyler’s eyes snap open, and he throws himself onto the people in front of him — they don’t react at this at first, Tyler manages to twist somebody’s neck in a fast motion; the man falls, and Tyler isn’t levitating anymore.

Josh is about to heave up his breakfast, but his bile gets stuck halfway up. Tyler jumps over the _corpse_ , he runs to the exit and lashes out when his attackers activate all at once; the butt of the rifle smacks against Tyler’s head, spilling red all over his t-shirt.

Josh can’t keep watching, he closes his eyes couple times — when he looks at the screen again, the floor’s painted with blood, and the men sit Tyler up next to his bed.

Tyler smiles.

The punches come harder, endless hailstones, drawing blood occasionally; Tyler tries to make it out of their grip, but they keep holding him by his arms and his neck, splashing their anger out.

_Seven crime convictions. Eight now._

Now Josh knows how that would happen.

Tyler’s arm hangs like a leather whip as he slumps on his side. He doesn’t dodge as the man kicks him in the sternum, then in his abdomen, he doesn’t even try to cover himself; the two men are manhandling their _dead_ colleague to the exit. The beating continues, Tyler has stopped blocking their punches a few minutes ago, but the soldiers don’t seem concerned. When they stop though, Tyler is a bleeding mess on the floor.

Josh suspects he’s going to be _the next_ one.

 

***

Josh neglects all of his work emails just to keep checking if Tyler is breathing — he thinks about it as he sits like a statue in front of the screen; Tyler doesn’t move for five hours straight.

And no one cares about him anymore.

When Tyler stirs, though, Josh feels like sobbing, because the only thing Tyler does is hauling his body up and onto the bed, his shoulder forms an ugly lump under his t-shirt. He’s doing it automatically, not even trying to find a comfortable position on the bed, thumping onto it like a whale on the shore.

His eyes are glowing yellow in the cracks of his eyelids.

 

**Day 19**

He avoids getting up for a few days.

Josh spends all the time sitting on his chair while Tyler is sleeping, Josh is insomniac now; whenever he closes his eyes, he gets vivid nightmares about the man dying in Tyler’s cell.

Tyler is a psychopath.

Tyler is Morph.

And when he is conscious, the first thing he does is getting his dislocated shoulder back onto its place, his mouth is open in a silent agony.

They still bring Tyler food. He eats.

And Josh doesn’t.

He unwittingly passes out due to exhaustion and lack of sleep. When he wakes up with a start, his cheekbone hurts from being pressed to the table for a long time; he shakes his head and peers into the screen.

Tyler is standing right in front of the camera, holding a cardboard sign with a handwritten phrase:

**_DEMA DØNT CONTRØL US_ **

This _‘us’_ makes Josh want to howl.

He’s just a laboratory rat, just like _Morph._

 

**Day 20**

They definitely notice that Tyler has tried to give Josh a signal.

They are definitely about to take revenge.

Josh can’t predict or prevent it when three of them barge into Tyler’s room in the morning, while he’s still sleeping in his bed — they shoot him in the neck with a dart, grab him by his forearms and ankles and lug him to the exit.

“No!”

Josh can keep yelling endlessly, but the room is completely empty for the first time. He can’t find any more cameras no matter how many times he reads the code, over and over again; Josh slams his fist against the table and goes to the bathroom where he drowns himself in the sink to the point of blacking out.

Tyler is still not in the cell.

It’s eerily symbolic, the way the picture clears along with the sky outside, and it can’t be just a coincidence. Josh can’t detect the origin of the signal, all of his software fails.

Tyler is still not there, Josh thinks he will never be.

But then the door almost flies out of the frame as they throw Tyler into the room; he doesn’t keep his balance, skidding to his knees. The worst thing about it, though, is that he’s only wearing his briefs, holding his t-shirt and his joggers in his hands. He’s shaking violently, he drops his things on the floor, not even trying to dress up. His kneecaps are all scabbed, long welts and bruises litter his sides, his back. Josh tries to block all of his assumptions about what could have happened.

Tyler crawls away until Josh can only see his bare shins and his curled toes.

“Dude, please,” Josh doesn’t feel his lips as he speaks. “Move.”

But Tyler doesn’t, sitting with his forehead rested on his knees.

Josh still doesn’t know whose side he has to stand by.

 

**Day 21**

They stop feeding Tyler and feeding his inner Morph; all he eats now is a pure pain, and Josh would offer his biggest spoon to him to get his brainpan empty.

Tyler keeps sitting in the corner, numb, only jolting upright when _eight_ people invade his cell. Tyler can barely hoist himself up, but Josh thinks he’s about to scramble up the wall.

They don’t let him.

They have a straightjacket, and Tyler is wrecked enough to not struggle as they shove him into it and tighten the belts. He keeps hugging himself, he looks at the floor and one of the people writes something in Tyler’s journal.

Whatever (or whoever) Dema is, they can _definitely_ control Tyler.

And Josh.

They leave Tyler tied up, they knock him down next to his bed before slamming the door shut — and Tyler lies here for a while, then rolling over onto his stomach and then sitting up slowly. It’s hard to do this not using his hands — Josh would like to _hold_ him. Even though he considers Tyler a criminal, he can’t change his first impression.

All the belts and long sleeves don’t stop Tyler — he twists his joints as if they were made of rubber, he loosens the grip of this devilish clothing by moving his arms restlessly and sliding out of the straightjacket.

“Fucking Houdini.”

The straightjacket is a ghost in Tyler’s hands, he’s checking for something on the ceiling.

He definitely finds a thing to tie another end to.

Tyler throws the straightjacket like a lasso and disappears from Josh’s eyeshot — then, there are only his feet dangling a few inches above the floor.

Josh can’t look at it.

Josh can’t, and he covers his face with his palms, then fighting the urge to puke and focusing on the broadcast again.

He’s giving up.

Spoffy people flock into Tyler’s cell again — they bring a ladder, because Josh is not the only one who is _watching_. They get Tyler down, pale and half naked and slap his cheeks. One of the men leans close enough to listen to Tyler’s breathing. It is a trap, Tyler lets the rabbit in his hat go wild; he pounces on his abusers and grabs his makeshift noose, tying it over the man’s neck. Others try to beat him, but Tyler seems to be unstoppable, releasing all of his accumulated energy and pushing his rivals away from him.

The one with the sleeve tangled over his throat doesn’t flinch anymore.

Josh has scrapes on his wrists.

Tyler rubs his jaw, then his Adam’s apple, doubling over just to snatch his joggers and his t-shirt from under the bed.

He runs away; Josh is a partner in crime — Morph is free now — Josh is frightened of the thought he might never see him on camera again. He might be _anywhere._

 _Failed perimeter escapes: 43_ , Josh counts mentally.

His heart is about to explode when a new message ringtone dings in his long-forgotten chat; Josh slips into a funk as he opens it.

_Unread messages (1)_

**For:** _petcheetah_

 **Message text:** . _stay silent||-//im cøming._

**Author's Note:**

> 10101* — 21 in binary code  
> Chip-Chan stream* — in case you're [interested](https://www.reddit.com/r/chipchan/)
> 
> i know that scp foundation site is more like a meme now but ajktskdusdbubdbd


End file.
